Blurred Lines

Last night at 10PM I went to get a newspaper from the gas station around the corner and saw three old men walking up the street in full Colonial America Minuteman gear.

Really.

That about sums up Louisville. Strange sights with no explanation.

But things are good here. We spent several hours yesterday staging the major sex scene in the play, which calls for “athletic sex”. At once point the actor involved, who was truly physically exhausted after the rehearsal paused and said in awe, “This is what I do for a living.”

The other night I watched The Aviator, which was fantastic. At rehearsal I found myself remembering the line that Howard Hughes says to Kate Hepburn when she tells him she is leaving him.

“Stop acting Katie.” When she denies that she is ‘acting’ he looks at her and asks, “I wonder if you can even tell the difference anymore”.

This life is so bizarre. So many of us have these intimate, complex, fulfilling and thrilling and yet totally dysfunctional relationships with our work in the theater. We love it, we are fed by it, and we believe we would be nothing without it.

Is this healthy? Does it have to be that way? Or are we too far gone to even wonder that?

On another note - speaking of boys with charming British accents - Coldplay was here the other night playing with Fiona Apple. I can’t really afford a concert right now, but it was a bummer to know they were in town and I just couldn’t go. The Belle and Sebastien/New Pornographers tour comes through at the beginning of March and they play just a few blocks away from the theater.

I hate not having concert friends here.

There are many activities I am happy to do on my own (hey now, don’t even think it folks). Movies, theater, shopping, traveling even – all good solo. But for whatever reason, I always feel silly about going to a concert by myself. It’s not like you can really talk during a concert. But unless it is a sit-down affair, it just feels strange.

Bars too. I can’t do bars alone. But that’s probably for the best.